


Christmas, 2018

by Bardwich



Category: Victoria (TV)
Genre: Drumfred, Drumfred AU, F/M, M/M, Modern AU, only briefly featuring Drummond's parents, slight homophobia but in that weird passive way families do it often irl
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-31
Updated: 2018-12-31
Packaged: 2019-10-01 12:22:14
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,951
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/17244113
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Bardwich/pseuds/Bardwich
Summary: This is a follow-up fic inspired by "Christmas Drumfred" by @Whydidtheydothis : https://archiveofourown.org/chapters/40544825?show_comments=true&view_full_work=false#comment_201700064If you haven't read the fic with the most unique premise and the sweetest delivery of it, stop wasting your life and do so.The following are just more thoughts about Christmas in modern day Edward and Alfred's life.





	Christmas, 2018

**Christmas Eve, 2018**

‘I’m not sure we have enough beds for all your hundreds of nephews and nieces. Or rooms, as a matter of fact. Or food. Or…’

‘Shut up, help me with this, will you?’ Alfred asked, clearly struggling with the convertible sofa. It had been a trying Christmas Eve, what with most of the extended Paget family arriving in their (they thought) spacious London townhouse and all they wanted to do was go to bed. Given as they had graciously given their own bedroom to Alfred’s parents, they were currently trying to assemble the sitting room couch, cursing every IKEA instruction ever. Edward was there to help Alfred unfold it before they both collapsed on the hearth rug before the fire as they bloody were, caster sugar and flour dust on Christmas jumpers and all. ‘I offered to change things up and invite your family this year…’

‘Oh, God, no! I’ll gladly serve Sugar Puffs to and personally pull crackers with all of Septimus’s mischievous little elves a hundred times rather than go through the disaster that Christmas with my parents and brothers would surely be. As if they’d ever even agree to come… Alfred?’ Edward stopped as he realised the bedsheets weren’t as easy to put on as he’d hoped with his husband’s help.

In fact, as he looked up, he saw that Alfred abandoned his corners of the bedsheets and instead looked so forlorn he might have started crying any second.

‘Alfred…’ Edward’s soothing voice came as he went over to Alfred’s side and placed warm arms around him. ‘Hey, it’s alright. I’ve accepted it. Years and years ago, as a matter of fact.’

‘I know… Still. It’s so sad or something.’

‘It’s a bit awkward, I’ll give you that.’

‘But… it’s Christmas.’

‘Well, they didn’t come to the wedding, I doubt they’d come to Christmas dinner.’

‘Are you sure they wouldn’t want to come? Maybe they’ve changed. Just for the dinner, tomorrow. They live a short cab ride away, we have enough seats…’

‘God, no, really, Alfred. The last thing I need is them talking about one of my Dad’s business partners and what a beautiful and smart daughter they have, never forgetting to mention that she happens to be single… As if this’ Edward indicated his wedding band, ‘was nothing. No, thank you.’

‘But they’re your parents.’

‘Exactly. And I’m their son. They should be happy for us.’

‘MUUUUUM!!! Charlotte stole my shoeeeees!!!’ came little Georgie’s shrill voice as he all but somersaulted down the winding stairs in the wake of his little sister. ‘Charloooootte!!! Charloooooooootte!!! I’m telling on you!!!!!!!’

Edward and Alfred shared an exhausted look.

‘I’ll go,’ Edward offered to an eternally grateful Alfred and left to sort out the family feud.

Wilhelmina appeared shortly afterwards, adjusting her nightclothes and trying to keep the towel on her head upright. ‘George! Charlotte! Come back at once--- Oh, hello, Alfred. I’m sorry…’

‘They are probably in the back.’

‘Not in the garden?? Their hairs are all wet, they’ll catch a cold!’

‘No, don’t worry, Edward’s taking care of it… Ah, here they are!’

At that moment, Edward reappeared with the two little minxes, who were obediently holding hands like good siblings once again.

‘Here they are,’ Edward said as he handed over the children to their mother. ‘I didn’t even need to bribe them with toasted marshmallows.’

Wilhelmina cracked up. ‘We’ll call that progress.’

‘I’m afraid they take after their father,’ Alfred commented, amused.

‘Do they?’ she asked, mock-surprised.

‘I’m afraid so – Septimus was always uncontrollable, too.’

‘Was?’ she joked before turning to her children. ‘Now, come on, sweethearts, bedtime. Good night, boys.’

‘Goodnight! Goodnight, Mina!’ Alfred and Edward called after her as she returned upstairs.

***

**Christmas Day**

They slept so deeply it was like no time had even passed before morning came. The snow had fallen thick over the streets overnight, dimming all noise and giving the impression of a peaceful cloud having descended upon Earth from Heaven itself. Alfred, not opening his eyes yet, snuggled closer to Edward on their makeshift bed in the sitting room, the wondrous scent of quality coffee creeping into those fragile, silky soft thoughts between dreams and alertness.

Hoping to be met with his husband’s peacefully sleeping face, what his eyes were greeted with first thing was a pair of hideously red Christmas briefs – and the body on which they were worn, that of his brother Septimus, namely.

‘Coffee, bro?’ Septimus asked.

Alfred jumped, waking Edward, who just about had the same reaction to the sight of his eccentric brother-in-law.

‘Septimus…’ Alfred grunted, throwing a cushion at his brother. ‘Every year…’

‘Every year…’ Edward seconded sleepily.

‘That’s right!’ Septimus confirmed proudly and trotted up the stairs completely self-satisfied.

‘Troll…’ Alfred muttered.

At least they got a freshly brewed batch of coffee out of it. And good thing too: they were one of the first up, having escaped the fight for one of the bathrooms that followed, almost a Christmas morning custom in the Paget household when they were all gathered together.

Somehow, a couple of hours later, once the presents had been ceremonially opened, they all managed to arrange and set the tables – one for the kids in the sitting room, and one for the adults in the dining room – and Christmas dinner was about ready to be served.

Alfred moved comfortably in the midst of all this lively noise but Edward, who had very different memories of family Christmases, was still yet to get used to this.

‘We should do a drinking game when the Queen’s speech is on!’ Septimus suggested. His brother George immediately agreed, already listing ideas for what could score points.

‘Let me cut the turkey!!!’ little Cecilia offered, waving her newly acquired ninja sword, unaware that plastic could hardly do a good job at it.

‘HENRY!’ Charlotte, a.k.a. the Lady Anglesey, a.k.a. Alfred’s Mum, shouted when she realised her husband was once again amusing their great-grandchildren with his war stories about how he had lost his leg, scaring them with taking it off and on, pretending to be a pirate, the usual…

Edward almost didn’t even realise his phone was ringing.

Checking the screen, he was shocked to see “Mum” displayed.

Alfred caught sight of it and urged him to go on and take it. So Edward stepped aside from the thick of the noise over to the frosty paned garden doors and answered his phone.

‘Mum? Uh… Merry Christmas…’

‘Edward! Oh, hello, dear… Merry Christmas!’

And an immediate lull in the conversation followed, as always.

‘How are you, Mum?’ he tried, feeling strained.

‘Oh, I’m very well, thank you. We’ve just come back from church. Lovely service, I thought. I just thought I’d ring you before we sit down to eat. Is everything going well over there?’

‘Here?’ Edward asked, trying and failing to cover the phone from a noise that came from little Charlotte attempting to murder a horrid vase Edward’s sister-in-law had once sent them for his birthday a month late. ‘Absolutely spiffing. Having a splendid dinner.’

‘All alone?’

‘With Alfred, of course.’

‘Oh, yes…’

‘And Alfred’s family are all here, as always. It’s quite a party, actually.’

‘A house full of kids, then?’

‘Indeed.’

‘Isn’t that marvellous!’ she pushed and Edward almost fell for a genuine exclamation until… ‘Children are really the purpose of one’s life, Edward. I wish you’d realise that… Charlie and Lorraine came to visit yesterday and Arthur and Elizabeth are about to arrive any minute, they were so happy, gosh, Liz is getting bigger and bigger with their third…’

‘Mum…’

‘… and Berkeley writes their youngest has been accepted to your father’s old prep school in Scotland! If you had married Florence as we all hoped…’

‘Mum! Please, stop it…’ Edward pleaded a little louder than he had intended, attracting some concern from the dinner table.

‘She’s just finished her studies at Edinburgh, I hear from Lord Lothian that she’s coming down to the city to work, something to do with interior design, maybe you should call her—‘

‘Mum, I am married,’ Edward declared, even more forcefully, not giving a fig about basically freezing the atmosphere in the room. ‘ _Married_ , do you understand? To Alfred. I love him. I wish you could see him for the amazing person he is, as I see him. His family can celebrate us, _they_ can be happy for us. He’s my _husband_ , and you’d better get used to---’

‘Edward?’

‘… Father.’ Edward gulped as he had got the shock of a stern voice over the phone. ‘Merry Christmas,’ he said almost defiantly.

Silence followed, just too long to be natural. ‘…Merry Christmas,’ Edward heard muttered swiftly before the phone went dead.

As he checked his screen, it became obvious to others what had happened, too.

With nobody knowing what to say, Edward pocketed his phone and held his head high: ‘Well, who’d like some of the cranberry sauce?’

Thankfully sooner rather than later, the mood returned and nobody really wanted to bring up the awkward moment Edward had just endured as regards his family. The Christmas pudding was soon lit and distributed and most of the herd of guests settled in front of the telly to watch the Queen, the thousandth rerun of Love Actually, or otherwise to help the children assemble their tricky new toys.

Edward hung back to put the dishes in the washer and Alfred took this opportunity.

‘Was it really that bad?’ he asked and Edward knew what he meant exactly.

‘Just the usual. At least he said Merry Christmas back this time.’

‘Wow. So warm and loving.’

‘Alfred…’ Edward sighed but he knew Alfred was absolutely right. He couldn’t really argue with his husband at any rate when he was currently placing sweet little kisses on the back of his neck, making Edward almost drop the slippery plate in his hand. ‘Don’t, it’s too…’

‘Too what?’ Alfred whispered innocently in Edward’s ear.

‘Too… you know.’

Alfred grinned, satisfied. His purpose had been to take his husband’s mind off his less than supportive parents. And he succeeded.

‘You know, Septimus has the diaries. Maybe we could go over them later?’

Edward’s curiosity was wholly awakened. One of the most fascinating things about being married to the son of a real Marquess (“My Lord” as he sometimes liked to play in the bedroom…) was that his family history was well-documented. Recently, however, the historian in the family, Septimus, stumbled upon some diaries written by their great-great-great uncle Lord Alfred, which apparently detailed an intriguing romance between him and a mysterious man whose name could not be safely revealed in writing in the Victorian Period. It was always a source of fascination for Alfred since he even had a painting in his house of the uncle that was his namesake. They’ve been dying to read more about it and luckily Septimus had not forgotten to bring the notebooks he’d found while researching.

***

‘You’ve never kissed me by a lake,’ Alfred lamented once they were reading the diaries safely tucked in bed.

‘Excuse you, on our honeymoon, July 2016, Venice.’

‘That doesn’t count, it was a canal.’

‘And the sea.’

‘So not a lake.’

‘The Serpentine? I’m sure we’ve snogged in Hyde Park once or twice…’

‘Gosh, Edward, that’s just around the corner, it’s not like some exotic, romantic land, a secret, enchanted garden by a castle…’

‘Fine. I promise I’ll make it up to you,’ Edward gave in, losing himself in a warm kiss with Alfred. Or two. Or three. Or enough to make them abandon the diaries for now and enjoy what was left of one of many Christmas Days they would spend together.


End file.
